#honestly at the moment i’m just trying to do things so that i know if i still feel shit it’s not because of any of those things

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[mrsmangi]

Hibiscus 🌺🌺🌺

late night call - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: hibiscus - the realization of a friendship becoming something more - meaning: in victorian times, the gift of a hibiscus bloom meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty. ♡ w.c.: 1k ♡ a/n: hi, love! thank you so much for your request. srry for the delay, i'm a bit backed up with requests. she's a short one, but i hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

“Do you ever think people realize just how loud their ceiling fans are?” 

His voice comes through the phone, low and scratchy, like he’s been lying on his back for too long, staring at his own ceiling. You giggle softly, shifting against the pillow propped against your back. Your own fan spins above you, a rhythmic hum filling the space between his words and yours. 

“It’s white noise,” you say, quieter than usual. “After a while, you get used to it and stop hearing it.” 

“Mm, not tonight,” Luigi sighs. “It’s like the fan’s trying to keep me awake for as long as possible.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathy sound that feels just a bit too loud in the stillness of your room. It’s past midnight–long past the time you’d planned to be asleep–but this is how many of your nights with Luigi go. What starts with casual texts morphs into a phone call, then into hours of talking about nonsense; everything and nothing.

“Maybe it’s just your thoughts,” you tease. “What are the voices yelling at you about tonight?” 

He pauses on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of his breathing audible. You know Luigi well enough by now to know he’s not actively ignoring your question; he’s only deciding how much of himself to give away. 

“Life,” he answers lamely, though the vagueness of the reply altogether makes it clear there’s more to it than that. “Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do to succeed, it’s never enough?” 

You roll onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. The dim glow of your bedside lamp casts uneven shadows against the wall. 

“All the time,” you reply honestly. “It gets exhausting, though. I feel like I’m just running a race no one even cares to watch.” 

He exhales, a sound that crackles through the receiver. When he speaks again, his voice carries the kind of understanding that comes from being seen. “Yeah. I get it.” 

The two of you fall into shared silence, the steady hum of your ceiling fan whispering across the line. You let yourself picture him for a moment–probably sprawled out on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. His phone would be balanced in his other hand. The image feels familiar, like something you’ve seen a thousand times before, even though you haven’t. 

“Can I ask you something?” His voice breaks the quiet.

“Always.” 

He’s quiet again, but you don’t rush him.

“Do you think…” He pauses again, and you can hear the shift of his breathing. “Do you ever think it’s possible for something to change without either person realizing it? Like, to wake up one day and feel like everything’s changed, even though nothing is actually different?” 

“Maybe,” you say cautiously, voice softer now. “Sometimes things can change so slowly you don’t even notice until it’s already different. Then, you find yourself wondering how long it’s been that way.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what I mean.” 

You stare up at the spinning fan, asking him, “What’s different, Luigi?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. His continuous pauses make you grow somewhat uneasy, stretching a distance between you. “Us,” he says. “I think we’re different.” 

You exhale slowly. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s like every time we talk, it feels different. More important, somehow, like there’s something there that wasn’t before.” He stops and you can nearly hear the way he’s turning the words over rin his head. “I used to just…enjoy talking to you, but now, it feels like I catch myself waiting for it. I’m counting down to the next time I’ll hear your voice. And when we’re not talking, I’m thinking about what I want to tell you the next time I see you, or wondering what you’re doing, or–” He breaks out into nervous laughter, cutting himself off. “Um, does any of that make sense or am I just rambling?” 

It makes perfect sense. Too much sense. Your heart picks up speed, the weight of his words pressing against the thoughts you’ve tried to push to the back of your mind. You notice it too. You’ve felt a change in the way you catch yourself thinking about him at odd moments–when a song reminds you of something he’s said, or when you replay the voice messages he sends just to hear his laugh on repeat. Tonight, he speaks heavier, like he’s cracked open a door you have both been staring at for weeks, maybe longer, unsure of who will turn the handle first. 

“It does,” you whisper. 

There’s a small, nearly imperceptible breath on his end, like he’s been holding it and didn’t even realize. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip, letting the word sink in. “I didn’t know if I should say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” 

“Me neither,” he says, “but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I do. All the time.” 

You close your eyes, the glow of the lamp behind your lids is a soft orange hue. “So, what now?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says. There’s no pretense, no cleverness to soften the edges of his words. “But maybe we can figure it out. Together.” He says his last word carefully, almost like it’s fragile–like it may break under the weight of its meaning if he doesn’t say it the right way. 

You hear him shift, the faint sound of fabric rustling through the receiver. It’s a small thing, but it makes the moment feel so real, tangible, like he’s not just a voice in the dark. You let his words settle over you. Luigi doesn’t have the answers to all your worries and neither do you. But, it feels comforting somehow–to know that he’s with you in this journey, and you with him. 

“Okay,” you say. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You know he can hear it, even if he can’t see it. Your heart is full of love for this boy as you exhale: “Together.”

[cc1306]

hopeless romantic! suna, who can’t stop zoning out, while you’re telling him all about the fight the twins got in during second period. he stares at you blankly, thinking about the way your nose crinkles from laughter as you’re talking to him. cute.

hopeless romantic! suna, who asks, “sorry, what were you saying?” in response to you waving your hand in his face and snapping him out of his daze. with a slight blush on his face, he turns his head, mortified that you caught him failing to pay attention.

“seriously…keep up!” you reprimand him with a half-serious frown and a pout, and he forces himself to pay full attention not wanting to subject himself to such embarrassment again.

hopeless romantic! suna, who stays up late that night facetiming osamu, as he rambles on about some argument he and atsumu got into earlier in the day.

“sunarin, pay attention! quit thinking about [name], i’m talking to you,”

“i wasn’t thinking about her,” he defends, knowing full well that he was wondering if you were still awake before osamu interrupted.

“right, and i’m not the better twin. you know, you should just confess to her before it’s too late. someone else might make a move before you do, then you’ll never get to be with her.”

osamu’s statement made suna think hard.

“…yeah well she doesn’t like me like that. we’re just friends ‘samu.”

“you two are insufferable. let me know when you grow a pair and finally ask her out,” osamu groans out, growing tired of suna’s crippling fear of rejection.

“whatever… im tired now, bye,” suna cut off osamu’s rant with a yawn, before he ended the call.

would she really go out with someone else?

today was the day. suna decided that today would be the day he put his fear to the side and told [name] how he felt. he felt his hands tremble every time she was near and his heart pound, as adrenaline surged through his body.

during your lunch break, you sat on the roof together, just the two of you alone. suna saw this moment as his opportunity, the perfect chance to try and confess his feelings to you. you were currently rambling to him again, telling a story he honestly tried to listen to, but it proved difficult considering his heart was beating out of his chest, as he thought of how you’d respond to what he was about to tell you.

“and then aran and kita told me-“

“[name], i-“ he interrupts you mid-sentence, but his voice got caught in his throat. he cursed himself for being so nervous, all he had to do was say the three words but nothing came out.

“yeah, what’s up?” you ask him, as you drink from your strawberry milk carton contentedly.

“i…umm… i have something to tell you,”

okay yes, good start. just tell her.

“okay…should i be worried?” you ask, starting to get concerned about how serious suna suddenly became.

you thought he’d been acting strange the past week, like how he’s been zoning out recently when speaking to you, or just staring strangely. you’re getting the vibe that somethings wrong with him. maybe he’s sick? maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore? you have no clue what to think, so you chose to hear him out.

“no…well, maybe.”

he felt his hands getting clammy and nervously rubbed them on his trousers. his eyes darted everywhere, looking at everything in the room except back at your own expecting pair. he realised he’d been silent for too long - he needed to say something now.

“i have to tell you how much you mean to me. you might not realise it, but i’m obsessed with you. i think of you before i sleep, and you’re the first thing i think of when i wake up. you consume me, and i don’t know what i would do without you,” he blurted out, speaking so quickly you wouldn’t have been able to keep up if you weren’t listening so intently.

you sat there, stunned in silence. of all things he could’ve said to you, you certainly didn’t expect this. he took your silence as a signal to continue his speech.

“i need you in ways that surely can’t be healthy,” he chuckled, releasing a nervous breath.

“i-“

“you don’t have to accept it. i don’t expect you to tell me you feel the same, but i’d wait forever for you. if you want to be just friends then we will. but you have to tell me what to do. i like you so much. you can say you hate me. you can say you don’t feel the same. just tell me the truth.”

he couldn’t muster up the courage to look you in the eyes, so he kept his gaze trained to the ground, staring hard at the laces of his shoes.

“suna..” you started, forcibly sucking in a breath of air since you felt like all of it had been knocked out of your lungs.

“that’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. thank you. i don’t now what i’d do without you either because i like you too,” you confessed as he rushed to hold you in his arms in a warm hug.

“thank God, i don’t know what i’d do if you rejected me,” he joked, covering up his anxiety with humour.

“i could never reject you,” you beamed at him in return. he felt his heart explode.

hopeless romantic! suna, who returned to last period that day with a smile from ear to ear, as he entered the classroom hand in hand with you by his side.

[overrboarrd]

UNBREAK MY HEART [ from scratch pt. iii ]

a/n: i’m not jinxing myself no more y’all. every time i say ima post something, i get super busy and it gets pushed back a whole week. so here’s part 4, it’s just as tense as the last part so pls don’t hate me <3

warnings: angstt

"un-break my heart , say you'll love me again undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door and walked out of my life"

“You look like hell, uce,” Jon finally broke the empty silence that filled his living room.

Joe sat on the edge of Jon’s couch, staring blankly at the bottle of beer in his hand. The condensation dripped down onto his palm, cold and unrelenting, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his chest. He hadn’t planned to come here, but the quiet echoes of his own house had been unbearable. Jon’s place, noisy with the distant sound of his kids playing in the backyard, at least gave him the illusion of calm. He huffed out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I came to hear.” Joe leaned back. The television played some highlights of last night’s football game, but neither of them paid much attention.

Jon sat in the armchair beside him, his sharp gaze pinned on his cousin. He didn’t push, not yet, but Joe knew the look. It was the same one Jon gave him when they were kids, back when Joe had tried to hide bruises he got from football practice. The look that said Jon could see right through him.

“What’s goin on?”

“Nothing.” Joe shrugged, taking a slow sip of his beer and keeping his gaze fixed on the bottle.

“Bullshit.” Jon’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a challenge.

Joe clenched his jaw. “It’s just the rehab.”

Jon’s brow lifted. “The rehab? Or Camille?”

At her name, Joe’s stomach twisted, and the beer suddenly tasted bitter. He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, too bad,” Jon said, unfazed. “You’re here, which means you do wanna talk about it. You just don’t know how to start.”

Joe’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his chest. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

Jon shrugged. “I’ve known you your whole life. You bottle everything up, uce. Always have. You keep stuffing things down until they explode. And when they do, you the one left pickin up the pieces.”

Joe scoffed, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better that way. Some things don’t need to be talked about.”

“Like Camille?” Jon pressed.

Joe glared at him, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” Jon said, his tone softening as his posture straightened. “Come on, Joe. What���s really goin on?”

For a moment, Joe said nothing. He stared at the wall, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he didn’t want to feel. The lime-washed wall blurred in his mind, replaced by Camille’s face—the tension in her jaw when she was focused, the way her voice softened just enough when she thought he was in pain.

But he let the words come, sharp and raw, cutting through the silence.

“Seeing her every day is like ripping open a wound that won’t heal,” he said, his voice low and strained. “She’s right there, just trying to fix my shoulder like… like none of it even mattered. Like I didn’t matter. Like she didn’t walk out on me without a damn word.”

Jon hummed, letting a beat pass before speaking. “You think that’s how she really feels?”

“I don’t know,” Joe snapped. “And honestly, I don’t care.” He leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees. “I gave her everything, Jon. I didn’t hold anything back. I loved her, and she still left. And now she’s just…here. And I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend I’m not still pissed as hell that she didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever the hell went wrong?”

Jon leaned forward too, his expression serious. “So you gonna tell her all that? Or you just gonna carry it around, hoping she’ll figure it out on her own?”

Joe shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It wouldn’t matter, she still walked out of that rink. I fought for her, Jon. I fought like hell after that. What’s the point of trying to bring it up?”

“The point,” Jon said, his voice steady, “is that you still care. And don’t try to deny it, uce, ‘cause I can see it all over your face. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be this angry. You wouldn’t be here, venting to me.”

Joe’s chest tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Jon agreed. “But the thing is —you got a choice. You can keep holdin on to all this anger, or you can let yourself feel the other stuff too. The hurt, the love, the hope. Yeah, she left, but she’s here now. Don’t you think that might mean something?”

“The hell am I supposed to do about it now? Cause every time I see her, all I feel is this...mix of anger and—” He stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can’t do that shit again. I won’t.”

Jon sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Look, I’m not sayin you shouldn’t protect yourself. But you’re not just protecting yourself—you’re shutting her out. And maybe she deserves that, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe you just gotta be honest with yourself and Cam. You got her in front of you again, uce. How many people get that kind of second chance? But if you don’t at least try to talk some of it out, you gonna regret it.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of Jon’s words pressing on Joe’s chest. He didn’t respond, unable to find the right thing to say.

Jon stood, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder. As Jon walked back to the kitchen, Joe sat, staring at the condensation pooling on the coffee table. He hated that his cousin was right.

But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

—---

Architect was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around Joe like a vice, squeezing tight and leaving no room to breathe. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead only served to amplify the emptiness. He glanced at the clock on the far wall. 7:45 PM. The place had officially closed fifteen minutes ago, but he and Camille were still here. Alone.

She stood a few feet away, her back to him as she sanitized the treatment table. The sharp smell of cleaning solution filled the air, and her movements were mechanical, almost as if she were trying to avoid looking at him.

“Alright,” she said, her voice clipped as she turned to face him. “Let’s get started. We’ll do some stretches first, then work on the strengthening exercises.”

Joe nodded, the words sticking in his throat as he sat down on the edge of the table. His body ached, not from the rehab, but from the weight he’d been carrying since the moment she walked back into his life. Almost two full weeks of these sessions, of her being so close yet so distant, had worn him down to the raw nerve.

Camille reached for his arm, gently guiding it into position for the stretch. Her touch was clinical, but his skin burned where her fingers brushed against him, igniting a fire he’d been trying to smother since the day she’d left.

“Joe, relax your shoulder, you’re compensating with your back again.” she instructed, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before darting away.

“I got it,” He snapped, his tone sharper than intended.

Camille stepped back, swallowing the urge to bite back. Instead, she softened her voice. “I know you do. But this isn’t about pushing through pain, it’s about healing.”

Joe dropped his arm abruptly, the band snapping back as he let out a frustrated grunt. “Healing?” he said bitterly, his voice low but laced with anger. “You think this is healing? Having to sit here, day after day, while you pretend like nothing happened between us?”

Camille froze, the words slicing through the professional barrier she’d carefully maintained. “Pretending? Joe-”

“I’m not gonna put up with this!” he gestured between them. “This… act you been putting on for the past two weeks. Actin’ like we’re all good. Like you didn’t just walk out of my life without a saying anything.”

Her eyes widened as her face faltered slightly. “Joe, I’m here to help you with your recovery. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, sliding off the table. “You don’t just get to come back into my life and pretend like we’re strangers. You don’t get to act like what you did didn’t wreck me.”

“Can you just lis—”

“No,” he cut her off, creating some distance between them. His broad shoulders heaved as he turned to face her, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get to talk right now. I spent two years with you, Camille. Two years building a life, planning a future, only for you to rip it all away without even telling me why. Do you know how many nights I sat in that empty house, wondering what I did wrong? Wondering why I wasn’t enough for you?”

Her composure cracked, her lips trembling as she took a step back. “It wasn’t about you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then what was it about?” he demanded, his anger boiling over. “Because from where I was standing, it sure as hell felt like it was about me.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away, straightening her shoulders. “You… you were everything to me, Joe. And that terrified me. I was scared of losing myself in you. I-I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“So you ran,” he said bitterly. “Instead of talking to me, instead of letting me in, you just left.”

“I didn’t know how to stay,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I was afraid I’d ruin everything. Afraid I’d ruin you.”

Joe laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Well, congratulations. You managed to do that anyway.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between them. Camille’s tears finally spilled over, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away. “I know I hurt you. And I’ve hated myself for it every single day. But you were so sure of everything. Your career, your life, your love for me… I didn’t know how to keep up with that. I didn’t know how to be enough for you.”

Joe’s expression softened, though the hurt lingered in his eyes. “You were enough, Camille. You were always enough. But you didn’t even give me the chance to show you that. You didn’t trust me to handle your fears. You just left.”

Camille’s voice broke as she replied, “Because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t think I deserved the kind of love you were offering. And by the time I realized I was wrong, it felt too late to come back.”

He'd figured this moment would come, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Joe turned away, running a hand over his face as he tried to calm the storm inside him. “I loved you, Camille. I still…” He stopped himself, his chest heaving. “I would’ve never given up on us like that. ”

“I know I made a mistake.” Her voice cracked again, and she quickly wiped at her tears. “And I never stopped loving you. I just—" Her voice rang in his ears, the rawness of her words made his chest tighten. “I don't know if it's too late, but I needed you to know that.”

Joe's eyes fell shut, his mind warring between anger and the yearning he’d tried to bury. Her confession hung in the air, vulnerable and raw like a blade against his skin, carving open old wounds he thought had scarred over. For so long, he had craved those words. In the sleepless nights when the silence was louder than his thoughts, in the moments when he reached for his phone only to remember there was no one waiting on the other end. He wanted to yell, to tell her she was too late, that the man she had left behind didn’t exist anymore. But the truth… the truth was that her absence had never stopped haunting him. He stood rigid, his emotions snarled in a web of anger, longing, and something dangerously close to hope.

Camille searched his face, her own filled with fragile hope and deep regret. "I’m not asking you to forgive me," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just asking for a chance to show you that I’m not the same person who left.”

“I don't trust you," he admitted, a long silence filled the room before he shook his head softly. "But I…I don’t know if I can let you go again, either.”

[steven-g-rogers]

Steve turned back to Tony and sighed.  He wasn’t sure what to say.  What else was there to say?  He’d explained it all, he’d said sorry.  Tony’s feelings were valid but he could either live with them or not.  There wasn’t a hell of a lot Steve could do.   He wanted them to be on friendly terms again, but maybe this was just an unworkable issue and they never would be.

His shoulders sagged.  He felt so exposed with his lack of shirt and shower dampened hair.  But if Tony was open to it, he supposed he could get the ball rolling.

“I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings here.  I get it, Tony.  This is big and painful.  I was friends with your father.  In fact, Bucky - that’s the guy who did it - he was too. I can only imagine how he’s going to feel or already feels about what they made him do.  And you’re right.  I should have told you as soon as I realized what I was being told.  At the time - I had a lot of other things happening.  I didn’t get a moment to pick up the phone and call you.  But that’s no excuse.  The main thing was - I was scared.  Simple at that.  I didn’t want - well - this.”  He gestured between them.  “I want to find Bucky and bring him back here and how can I do that now?  I guess in my head I thought what was the point of knowing if it was just going to hurt you?  It was selfish.  I was selfish. I didn’t keep the secret long, but I shouldn’t have kept it at all.”

He let out a breath and looked down at his feet, his hand moving over his stomach.  “I want to take the pain away.  I want you to let it out.  I don’t know how.  Or even if I can.  But if you have an idea, tell me.  If it’s in my power I’ll do it. You want to scream at me?  Scream at me.  You want to hit me?  Hit me.  I mean it.  I can take it.  But if we’re going to work together, we have to figure out some way to get along and if we can’t, one of us has to leave.  And honestly - I think given everything, that person should be me.  I can always go back to the army or Damage Control or something.  The Avengers are your baby.”

He looked back up at Tony.  “Please believe me though.  I didn’t do any of this to hurt you.  I know it’s beside the point because you were hurt anyway.  But my intentions were pure.  But you know what they say about good intentions.  Just - tell me what you want me to do?”

There were times when Tony had to admit his natural bull-headedness was a curse rather than a strength, being stubborn to a fault wasn't getting him anywhere and neither was avoiding speaking to Rogers about it at all. How were they supposed to work together if they could hardly stand being in the same room as one another with the bad blood between them?

"Alright fine, you want to talk? Let's talk." The inventor hoped he spoke loud enough, raising his tone of voice to catch the captain's attention before he exited the gym to leave him to his own sulking.

"On one condition," A pause hangs in the air as words are carefully mulled over in his head, repeating them to himself like a mantra. "No 'I'm sorrys', I don't want to hear a single apology out of you." The Iron Man couldn't take people feeling pity for him, much less from someone like Steve who was supposed to be his teammate and an equal.

A foot taps in a steady rhythmic beat on the floor as the younger man raises a brow curiously, waiting patiently to hear what the centenarian soldier had to say.

"The floor is yours, Steve."

[muwapsturniolo]

Let’s talk about it.

Tw! Mentions of suicide, slurs, rape accusations, triggering shit in general

As most of yall know there has been drama this past week that I was dragged into as well as rose. This drama started off as something petty that rose and I didn’t want to be involved in, and because I unfollowed the people involved, and told them it wasn’t right to drag rose and I into it, and rose blocked the people involved, suddenly one of the people is dead and rose and I are being blamed.

Now, death is a serious thing, however you’re not gonna blame someone killing themselves on me when I didn’t do anything to them. That’s horrible and disgusting, and it’s fucked up. Do you understand how serious of an accusation that is? Of course I’m not going to care if someone is dead and I’m being blamed for it.

Posts are being sent to me on anon and I’m seeing people say I joked about death. I didn’t joke about shit, I made a few insensitive comments and said I don’t believe she’s dead and I stand on that. I already messaged this acct but to make a video and say “this is just like telling someone a person faked a raped accusation, I’m gonna believe her until she is proven guilty” is actually crazy considering this is two different fucking things, and there’s actual evidence that I didn’t kill nobody.

(Convos with Aaliyah proving I didn’t say anything crazy to her)

This sounds harsh but idc because it needs to be said. If you kill yourself because you dragged two people into sum shit that they didn’t ask to be dragged into, and they react by telling you that you were wrong and they unfollow and block, there is something actually wrong with you.

This is giving the same energy as a manipulative toxic narcissist boyfriend/girlfriend/whoever the fuck, that threatens to kill themselves because you want to break up.

I was literally being harassed on instagram live, a person was watching the live and sending me anons calling me all types of slurs and responding to what I was saying. They kept accusing me of “killing their friend” and that’s bullshit.

How is it possible I killed your friend when them ending their life has nothing to do with me? Like honestly think about it, I’ve posted the messages between me and Aaliyah, nothing bad was said. So no, I didn’t kill your friend nor did I tell her to.

And also, as I was on live yesterday, I showed two accts, one that ik for a fact is Aaliyah, and one that I’m 99% sure is Aaliyah. The 99% one is 99% because I went through their old stories and they were speaking French (which Aaliyah was), was black (which Aaliyah was), had the name Aaliyah and followed me on both my instas, and also looked 13-14 (which is what people kept claiming her age was) After I showed the one I wasn’t 100% certain about, people in the live were getting blocked by that acct and the weird person harassing me on the live admitted they were on the acct and blocking people. The said it was cause I showed her face but there were no photos on the acct of Aaliyah nor was the pfp her. ALSO THE ACCT LITERALLY WAS POSTING EARLIER THAT DAY

Now, I’m starting to believe this was all Aaliyah because she didn’t want to take accountability, but part of me still believes it’s Lila because she has done odd shit in the past which was confirmed by someone.

(Confirming that Lila has made multiple accts to interact with rose and rose keeps blocking her)

Also Lila claims she never blamed me or rose and someone else claims bendetta never did. Is she didn’t, then what is this?

Is this not Lila trying to have a gotcha moment ?? Mind you, Lila unblocked me just to tag me in this post. Then when I called her out she blocked me immediately because she knew she was wrong for blaming me and rose.

So basically to sum up this post, I didn’t kill anyone, rose didn’t kill anyone, stop talking on shit you don’t know anything about, and don’t fake your fucking death and accuse people.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar & Spicy Books Chapter 4

Summary:  Y/N is an accomplished writer who is newly divorced, and out of fear of the unknown, moves back to her small hometown she swore she’d never come back to.  She comes across her best friend that never left, who helps her out of a tough spot.  Will old feelings arise?  Or is she just too big for such a small place now?

Warnings:  language, smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

By the time they got home Sunday morning Y/N was thoroughly fucked out.  They rarely left the hotel room after that first night, and Bucky had paid for another night and figured things out with his mom so they could spend more time together.  She was asleep in the car when Bucky picked up Autumn, and trudged inside the house when they got back to his house.  

“What’s wrong with Y/N, Daddy?” Autumn asked, watching Y/N worriedly.

“Oh she’s fine, lovey.  Just tired after a fun weekend,” Bucky reassured her before shooing her away to unpack as he helped Y/N up the stairs to his room.  

“Why are we in here?” Y/N asked.

“You’re gonna take a nice, long bath, and I’ll get you some lunch,” Bucky said, plopping her stuff on his bed.  “And you honestly didn’t think after all that you’d be sleeping in a different bed than mine, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugged.  “What about Autumn?”

“I’ll talk to her,” Bucky said, kissing her lightly.  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.  She loves you.”

“I…Buck, I…” Y/N stuttered.  She was feeling a lot of different emotions all at once.

Bucky smiled at her knowingly.  He lifted his hands and cupped her face.  “I want you.  I want this.  Do you want me?”

“Yes,” she answered automatically.

“Do you want Autumn, this house, Woodstock, this as your life?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then what are you worried about?” he whispered.

Y/N stared at him for a moment as she tried to figure out what it was that was bothering her.  Why was she so anxious coming back to regular life after such a life-changing weekend?  She felt sure of Bucky.  He was the love of her life, she knew that.  She felt sure about Autumn.  She loved her and was sure she loved her back.  Then it hit her: she was afraid of not being enough for them.  She hadn’t been enough for her parents, or as a married, faithful wife to her ex-husband, with a successful writing career, a large, beautiful home, a fancy, newer car, and all that came with her previous life.  

“I’m afraid of not being…enough, for you, or her, or…anyone,” Y/N confessed, looking away from him and trying to pull out of his touch.

Bucky frowned deeply and didn’t let her move.  “Honey, you are enough.  You are everything to me.  You and Autumn are my everything,” he said, his hands slipping away from her face and wrapping behind her, hugging her to him.  “I’m sorry you were taught that you weren’t enough for others.  You’ve been neglected, lied to, and hurt.  But you’ve always been enough for me.  You are so much more than enough for me.  I wouldn’t, couldn’t, even dream of hurting you.”  Y/N sniffed as her tears started to fall, trying to blink them away.  “I love you, Y/N.  I want you.  I want whatever you’re willing to give me, which I hope is a long, happy life together.”  His left hand reached back up to wipe away her tears.  “And I know I’m asking a lot very early and very fast but, it feels like this is where we were supposed to be all along…what do you say, honey?”

Y/N nodded.  “I want that, too,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.

Bucky smiled widely.  “Then let me take care of you.”  He kissed her nose.  “Let me love you.”  He kissed her forehead.  “Please?”  

She felt almost lightheaded from how much his words and actions were making her feel like a load was taken off her shoulders.  The burdensome feeling she held for so long on her heart melted away as he stared at her with such deep earnestness and desire that it made her knees weak.  “Okay,” she smiled.  

***

Y/N was relaxing in the bubble bath Bucky set up for her when she heard a soft knock at the door.  She peered up at Bucky as he opened the door and peeked in at her.  “Hey, so me and Autumn were talking, and she wants to talk to you,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“Now?” Y/N mouthed.

“Now,” he mouthed back.

“Okay, sure,” Y/N nodded, pushing the bubbles so they covered her up.  Bucky nodded and opened the door wider for Autumn, who stepped in with a serious look on her face.  “Hey pumpkin,” Y/N smiled at her.  

“Hey,” Autumn said quietly as she kneeled by the tub.  “Daddy said he loves you, and you love him, and he wants you to stay with us.”  Y/N smiled wider as she glanced at Bucky, who smiled back at her adoringly.  “Do you love me?” Autumn asked, looking like she was on the verge of tears.

“Of course I do,” Y/N said earnestly, reaching her hand up and sweeping Autumn’s hair back.  “I love you very much, pumpkin.  I know I haven’t been here long, but I already love you so much.  And I love your Daddy.  Is it okay if I stay?”

Autumn sniffed quickly and nodded with a big smile.  “Yeah,” she replied.

“Now listen,” Y/N said, turning to face her more.  “I’m not trying to replace your mom, but I promise to love you and take care of you like you’re my own, because I already do.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Autumn nodded more fervently.  “I love you, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled widely again and carefully hugged Autumn so she wouldn’t get too wet from the bath water.  “I love you,” she said quietly.  

Autumn left the bathroom and Bucky knelt down by the tub.  He cupped the side of Y/N’s face as he leaned down and kissed her gently.  “Thank you,” he said.  

“For what?” Y/N asked.

“For being so wonderful with her,” Bucky said.  “For loving her.  And me.”

Y/N smirked.  “You Barneses are just too easy to love.”

[lighttailoring]

SYRIL DAY! SYRIL DAY <3 MY TERRIBLE HORRIBLE BOY

I really wasn’t sure what to post but eventually I have settled on a list of things that I think are cool. I don’t think anyone reading this won’t have been subjected to at least a little bit of this already so for this I’m sorry. But this is my moment to shine!

NO JOKE CHARACTERS

This is the #1 thing I notice and appreciate about Syril’s arc, honestly. I’ve seen far, far too many shows set up characters like this in other media. Mean, Pathetic Losers whose only role in the plot is to be repeatedly humiliated over the course of it – and of course, it’s always all their fault. Why don’t they realise that nobody likes them, that everything they do is terrible, that they should just go away and leave the normal people alone? When he first showed up on screen I was genuinely watching through my fingers. Just kill him off already, I thought. Please. Just kill him off, so I don’t have to watch him be used as a punching bag while you point and go “Ha, funny right? It’s funny to watch freaks like this guy suffer, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad you’re not like him – wait, you’re not like him, are you?”

But then they… didn’t do either of those things? Syril doesn’t win, sure. He can’t win, at least on the path he’s currently going down, because this is Andor. I will leave the entire post that I could write about how Andor’s narrative *will * fuck you for Timm &/ Nurchi Appreciation Day – that’s coming, right? But tl;dr: God is real on this show and his name is Tony Gilroy and he hates fascism lol.

But he also isn’t treated like a joke. There are no joke characters on this show. His stroppy little attempts to be taken seriously are laughable but they’re also given depth, just like everybody else’s shitty decisions. Real motivations, real consequences.

And then after they didn’t kill him off in Reckoning, Andor heard everyone making their cute little Mommy Issues jokes and went “OK!” and sent him home to his actual mother and we all had to sit there and watch -

THE OPPRESSIVE REGIME AS THE ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WRIT LARGE

“It’s easier to hide behind forty atrocities than a single incident,” says Nemik, and in the same episode we see Eedy Karn – a woman whose first interaction with her only son, who she’s not seen in years, is to slap him across the face – repeatedly needle Syril. The kitchenette is small, cramped, lit only by grubby artificial lighting. It feels like an interrogation room. It basically is an interrogation room. Eedy berates Syril for every single thing he does or says – a brown suit triggers a particularly insidious wave of insults disguised as concern, but we know as well as he does that he could have worn any colour and gotten the same reaction. In the same show we also watch Mon Mothma struggle against a constant onslaught of bullshit from her dreadful husband, and we see the same tactics being used, albeit in slightly different ways. It just never lets up, for either of them – if they try to ready themselves to fight back against even one barb, they’ll find themselves with ten more lodged in their backs that they haven’t been able to dodge, so they just… endure it.

Fuck it - this isn’t an academic essay. What I’m trying to say is fuck I love Andor for holding up a picture of an abusive relationship and a picture of an oppressive regime and waiting for us to figure out that they’re the same picture. Undermine your target at every turn – convince them that they can’t win. Then when you actively harm them, they won’t even bother to fight back.

A SHADOW, A TENANT, A STRANGER

So yeah there’s that. But Syril’s arc in specific really focuses on what it’s like to live in a panopticon – to know you’re constantly being monitored. “I have ways of knowing,” Syril says to Eedy. But he doesn’t seem to have ways of preventing her from snooping on him. And really, what good does knowing that you’re being watched do, if you can’t stop it?

How do you grow, when you’re constantly being monitored, and when – as it’s been demonstrated – there is no possible way to please the person who’s monitoring you? How do you develop a personality? How do you do anything?

We see so many times just how stunted Syril is – from his absolute inability to think in shades of grey, his need for order because he doesn’t have any idea what he wants (“I want what you want,” he says – does he mean I think I know what you want, or does he mean Whatever you want is what I want?), the way he looks like a little child in his sad pyjamas sitting at that plastic table, his bizarre little friendship with Mosk that’s more like two kids on the playground than two fully grown men. He doesn’t have his own desires because he hasn’t been allowed to have them. He wants the rigidity and facelessness of the Empire because then he doesn’t have to deal with the fact that he doesn’t have a face of his own. He’s so nothingy. I love him so much you guys.

TAILORING

BUT the one thing we do see Syril actively doing is… tailoring. Well, we don’t see him do it, but Kyle Soller has confirmed in interviews that Syril is doing it himself, which I think most of us suspected. In a show that keeps bringing up salvage and ‘fix it yourself’ and how we’re pushed towards the pre-packaged and mass-produced precisely because it keeps us reliant on the supplier, it’s… it itches, to see this guy taking in his shapeless Pre-Mor uniform to flatter him (hi Kyle Soller slutty waist fans), to see him raising the collar of the brown suit that his mother hates so much (and someone pointed out that the collar is a slightly darker brown than the rest of the suit, and that he’s then clearly used that same material to add to the cuffs, so that it looks intentional). Where’s that post about how the reason influencers and celebrities look so great in clothing that you look dreadful in is because they’ve had all of their clothing tailored to fit, where you’re expected to just make do in stuff that’s designed to fit someone who doesn’t even exist.

The fact that you’d THINK he’d be so wedded to the idea of Following The Rules that he’d insist on not making any alterations to his uniforms at all???? (First person to say “It’s Because He’s Vain And Selfish” is getting a little kissy on the forehead because I know that will annoy you more than anything <3)

THE SUN…

You’re still reading this, so you’re getting my favourite, most brain-itching thing YAY

The opening scene of The Axe Forgets is the moment that cemented Syril in my head as My Blorbo Forever. Two seconds. I timed it! Two seconds of sunlight. And he’s been waiting for it, sat on his bed like a dog waiting for its master to come home – and there it is, the sun on his face – and then it’s gone. He’s left all alone in the darkness again.

(and THAT’S on a sunny day... and what happens when another block is built, or someone puts up a billboard, or runs an expressway through that little sliver of sky? Fuck you, is what).

It’s implied that Syril and his mother are pretty solidly lower-middle-class. They’ve Worked Hard All Their Lives, and have probably been ‘calling in favours’ their whole lives, also. I’m half convinced that Syril was sending money home from Pre-Mor to help pay the rent (otherwise why the immediate need for Syril to get another job? Wouldn’t Eedy love to relish in her son’s unemployment, and have him at home 24/7 to boot?) And this is what all that hard work gets them – two seconds of sunlight a day.

It’s like… OK the reason they made a TV show instead of writing an essay is because I can write all of this out, but when you see that shot, you feel it. The fucking SUN. Even the sunlight is out of reach. Coruscant is Hell I stg

BUT WAIT I HAVE MORE THINGS TO SAY. Luthen says “I burn my life to make a sunrise I know I’ll never see” and there is of course a supremely ironic comparison to be made there with Syril’s own hubris handing Ferrix to the Empire and leading him back to that childhood room where he literally will never see the sunrise – but. The sunrise.

The problem with sunrises is that you sort of can’t stop them from happening. I think it falls into the wider (and perhaps faulty!) concept in Andor that the success of the rebellion is inevitable – that “one single thing will break the siege”.

Why did they give Syril these scenes with the sun? Nothing in this show is accidental. I’ve been turning it over and over in my brain ever since the show aired. Why is this character, who’s so browbeaten and curled in on himself and willing to debase himself in service of an Empire that hates him because he doesn’t know anything other than being hated – why does he get the sun, the sun that will always rise no matter what

Drives me crazy. Anyway

Character Appreciation Friday - Syril Karn

Name: Syril Karn Played by: Kyle Soller Appearances: Kassa, That Would Be Me, Reckoning, Aldhani, The Axe Forgets, Announcement, Narkina 5, Nobody's Listening!, Daughter of Ferrix, Rix Road

Happy Friday, fam! We're really getting to the meat of it for Appreciation Friday from here on out, starting with our number one sad cereal boy, Syril Karn.

Love him or hate him, there's so much to appreciate about this little weasel of a character. So let me know what you think in a reblog, comment, or ask! (and remember, do not be an asshole if you don't like him. learn to say it in a respectful way or don't say it at all)

Next week: Kleya Marki

[miodiodavinci]

(head in hands) man.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

.

[priestfrommidnightmass]

he could absolutely break my heart eventually. and i genuinely couldn’t care less

[gregmarriage]

🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

going through a depressive episode rn, and like yeah, yeah, it’ll pass, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck twenty seven balls in the meantime

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!” 

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.

[chuluoyi]

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!��� his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

[eclips-moon]

The Batboys being clingy headcanon:

Including Duke and Bruce <3

Hope you guys like it!

Tim Drake Tim’s clinginess is low-key, but it’s also constant. He’s the type to text you “What’s up? I miss you <3” while you’re just sitting 5 feet away from him. If you so much as stand up to go get a snack, he’s immediately there, like, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.” He’ll lean against you, his hand finding yours without him even realizing it. When you're watching TV or reading, he’s definitely leaning into your side, trying to get as close as possible without being too obvious. But if you move to shift positions? Nope, he’s following you. He’ll slip his arm around your waist, all like, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that.” He’s not a big PDA guy, but when it’s just the two of you? Prepare for cuddles, hand-holding, and small, random kisses. He’s gotta be touching you constantly.

Jason Todd Jason is obsessive, no doubt. He’s that partner who’ll try to act like he’s tough and independent, but the moment you show him any kind of affection, he’s all over you. Like, you can’t just hug him. No. He’ll climb into your lap and basically trap you there, rubbing his face into your neck like a cat. He’s gonna constantly ask for kisses, too, but not just little pecks—he wants full-on, deep kisses where he can pull you close and remind you that you’re his. If you’re doing something, like, working or even hanging out with friends, he’ll try to drag you away, be like, “Hey, come hang out with me, stop ignoring me for two seconds.” He’s possessive, but in the cutest way, constantly needing your attention. If you even talk to another person for too long, he’ll give them side-eye and pull you back to him like, “You good? You’re not gonna leave me for some random guy, are you?” He’s also the type to cling to you in bed, hogging the covers and curling up like a human koala.

Dick Grayson Dick’s clingy energy is pure gold. He’s the most affectionate of the bunch and doesn’t shy away from public displays of love. He loves hugging you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, and just randomly planting kisses all over your face. He’ll text you “miss you <3” every few hours when you’re apart, and when you’re together? It’s all about touch. He’s sitting on your lap, or leaning on your shoulder, or pulling you into his chest just because he needs to be close to you. If you’re watching a movie, he’s definitely going to have his head in your lap, just to be as close to you as humanly possible. He gets giddy when he gets attention from you, too. You could be playing with his hair, and he’ll melt. He’ll whine like, “I’m not clingy, you’re clingy. But also, I love it. So don’t stop.” Honestly, Dick doesn’t care if he’s acting like a bit of a puppy—he’s obsessed with you, and he makes sure you know it.

Damian Wayne Damian’s clingy moments are hilariously dramatic. He might start out cold, acting like he doesn’t need anyone, but as soon as you show him any affection? He’s all in. He’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it like it’s the most important thing in the world. If you try to walk away from him for whatever reason, he’ll growl and pull you back in, like, “Where are you going? You’re staying right here.” He has this whole vibe of “I don’t need anyone else, just you”, so if you’re talking to someone else or looking away from him for too long, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and be like, “I don’t think you should be talking to them. They might steal you away from me.” In bed? He’s a hug monster, wrapping his arms around you like he’s never letting you go. He’s all about the intimacy, though—when it’s just the two of you, he’ll be soft and surprisingly vulnerable, making sure you know that he needs you more than he lets on.

Duke Thomas Duke is lowkey super clingy, but in the way that’s goofy and endearing. He loves to follow you around, like, just wherever you go, he’s tagging along. You’re going to the kitchen? He’s there. To grab something from the laundry room? He’s there. If you sit down, he’s sitting on the floor next to you, asking if you want to “cuddle and watch dumb shows together.” He’s always finding excuses to touch you—like, his hand will just casually rest on your knee or he’ll come up behind you and play with your hair. And if you don’t give him attention? He’ll pout, even if he’s trying to play it off, like, “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He’s the type who’ll give you a silly smile, lean in for a kiss, and then pull you into a full-on hug like, “Don’t go. I’m not done with you yet.” He’s all about the hugs, especially after a long day. You’ll be just chilling, and suddenly he’s like, “Hug time, right? Let me get one.”

Bruce Wayne Now, Bruce is not the type to openly admit he’s clingy. He’s still the stoic, brooding billionaire who’s been through a lot, but when it’s just the two of you? He’s softer than anyone expects. He’ll always make sure you’re physically close—his hand on your lower back, your legs touching when you sit next to him, and if he’s standing near you, his hand will casually rest on your arm. When you’re working late or doing something serious, Bruce will occasionally pull you away for a few minutes just to kiss you or hold you close. He’s not great at asking for attention, but when he’s feeling clingy, he’ll show you through little gestures. You’ll find him just sitting beside you in silence, just content to be in your presence. He’s a man of few words, but when he’s clingy, it’s all about the touch—the way he holds your hand, how he presses his shoulder to yours, and how he’ll insist on driving you home or waiting up for you, just to make sure you’re safe.

[goldsainz]

# DREW STARKEY — ACTORS ON ACTORS !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ drew and you participate in variety’s “actors on actors” series.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ cursing, talking about nude scenes, probably inaccurate acting experiences.

003. NOTE !

✯ sorry to all the actors i stole roles from😭 also zendaya is used as a face claim for the social media but the writing is inclusive and has no descriptors of physical appearance… or at least i hope so.

word count : 5,4k (chat i got carried away)

The cozy studio was bathed in warm light, designed almost as if to feel like a welcoming living room. Two plush chairs faced each other, separated by a low coffee table adorned with a few carefully placed books and a small vase of fresh flowers. Everything about the space was crafted to exude intimacy and warmth, inviting open conversation.

Drew Starkey entered the room first, his usual calm confidence mingled with a tinge of nervous energy. He smoothed his shirt absentmindedly and scanned the setup, trying to ground himself in the moment. He was used to being in front of cameras, but this felt different. This wasn’t just about promoting a project or answering rapid-fire questions on a press junket. This was you.

“Hello,” Drew started, a smile gracing his features as he took in the fact that he was sitting right in front of his number one celebrity crush. His hand hovered awkwardly in a small wave, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Hi,” you said back, a giggle falling past your lips when you noticed his sheepish look. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he said, his voice just a little higher than usual. Drew cleared his throat, laughing at himself, which made you laugh too. “Sorry, I’m… a little nervous.”

“Oh, don’t be,” you reassured him with a warm smile. “I promise, I don’t bite.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great, thank you. What about you?”

“Pretty good, can’t complain.” A laugh bubbled out of him, and subsequently, you. The way he rubbed the back of his neck made you think he was still pinching himself that this was happening.

The cameras rolled, capturing the easy charm and immediate chemistry between the two of you. 

Drew’s grin widened as he began. “First of all, let me just say—I’m completely starstruck right now. I mean, the way you completely own every role you take on... it’s incredible.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a bashful laugh escaping as you waved off the compliment. “Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush!”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re like… the blueprint. If I ever get even halfway to where you are, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

“Well, now you’re just flattering me,” you said, your voice teasing but your cheeks undeniably warm. “But thank you, that’s so sweet. And honestly, you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re incredible in Queer. You’ve got this natural charm that just lights up the screen.”

“Natural charm, huh?” He smirked, pretending to preen, which made you laugh again. “I’ll take that.”

“Good,” you replied, smiling. “You should, because it’s true.”

Drew’s gaze softened, the teasing giving way to something more earnest. “That means a lot, really. Especially coming from you. You’re like… Hollywood royalty to many.”

You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “To many, huh? And are you part of this many?”

Drew’s eyes widened, and he laughed, a little caught off guard. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a lifetime membership to the fan club.”

“Good to know,” you teased, crossing your legs and leaning back in your chair with an air of mock superiority. “I’ll have to start charging you membership fees.”

“Totally worth it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“Well, thank you,” you said with a soft laugh, “So, we’ve both got some things in common, which I think is pretty cool.”

“Like working with Daniel Craig?” he asked.

“Yes! Honestly, I still reminisce about our time on set… he’s genuinely incredible, isn’t he?”

“He is, yeah. I found myself just admiring him and sort of forgetting I had to act too. He’s just… he’s on another level, for sure.”

“Daniel’s a master of his craft… Most of my scenes as Paloma in No Time To Die were with him, and at first I was so nervous because, like, what if I messed up in front of the Daniel Craig?” Drew let out a laugh at your words, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. “But when he noticed I was nervous he reassured me that it was all good. He’s just the best.”

“You’ve worked with so many high-profile actors.” You nod slightly at his words, as if it were the most common thing in the world. “Are you always nervous when meeting them, or was it just a Daniel thing?”

“It wasn’t just Daniel, no, but I think it depends. For example, when I did Oppenheimer with Cillian Murphy, for some reason I felt more relaxed… even though I had some nude scenes with him.”

“Nude scenes just make you connect, don’t they?” he joked, leaning back with a sly grin.

“They do, actually,” you replied, leaning into the banter. “You’d think they’d be worse, but honestly, with the amount of seriousness and concentration they take, it’s like you don’t have time to be nervous.”

“You clearly pulled it off flawlessly,” Drew said with mock solemnity. 

“You did too in Queer.” You compliment him, “I watched it a few days ago, and the chemistry you had with Daniel was just off the charts.”

Drew’s face lit up, a mix of pride and bashfulness crossing his features. “Daniel’s an amazing scene partner. He really made it easy for me to tap into everything.”

“Well, it shows,” you said. “It was such a raw and beautiful performance. I might’ve shed a tear or two.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush,” Drew teased, pointing at you with a playful squint. “But seriously, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Hey, give credit where it’s due,” you shot back with a grin. “You’ve got this way of making everything feel so real. Like when you’re in pain, we’re in pain. When you’re in love, we’re falling right alongside you.”

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what to do with all these compliments. This is the best therapy session I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly. “Well, I’m glad I could help. But now I’m curious—how did you prepare for a role like that? I mean, it’s so emotionally intense, no?.”

“It was a lot of journaling, a lot of talking with Luca about backstory and motivations,” Drew explained, his tone more thoughtful. “And honestly, I kind of drew from real-life experiences. Not the exact ones, obviously, but just feelings of vulnerability and… wanting to be understood.”

“That’s beautiful,” you said softly, your smile turning tender. “It’s amazing how much of ourselves we pour into these characters.”

“Exactly,” Drew agreed. “And sometimes it’s terrifying, but when it resonates with people, it feels worth it.”

“It definitely resonated with me,” you assured him. “And I’m sure with countless others too.”

“That’s really nice to hear,” he said with a soft smile.

“How was it for you to work with Luca? Because I remember it being one of the highlights of my career.”

Drew’s eyes lit up at the mention of Luca Guadagnino, and he leaned forward slightly, as if the memory itself was a magnet pulling him closer. “Oh, working with Luca was… incredible,” he said, his voice laced with awe. “He’s got this way of creating such a safe, open space on set. It’s almost like he’s not just directing—he’s inviting you into this world he’s building in his head.”

You nodded eagerly, your own memories of working with Luca bringing a nostalgic smile to your face. “I know exactly what you mean. He makes it feel like you’re collaborating on this deeply personal piece of art, rather than just executing someone else’s vision.”

“Exactly!” Drew said, gesturing animatedly. “And he has this way of pulling things out of you that you didn’t even know you had. Like, he’ll ask you one simple question, and suddenly you’re diving into this emotional rabbit hole.”

You laughed, tilting your head in agreement. “He asked me once, ‘What would this character, Maren in my case, dream about?’ and it completely changed how I approached the next scene.”

Drew’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “He asked me the exact same question!”

“No way!” you exclaimed, your laughter spilling out in disbelief. “I love that! It’s honestly such a deceptively simple question, but it opens up so many layers.”

“It really does,” Drew said, chuckling. “And then you’re sitting there like, ‘Okay, now I have to rethink everything I thought I knew about this character.’”

“It’s kind of genius, though,” you added. “He makes you work harder, but not in a way that feels forced. It’s like… he trusts you to figure it out, but he gives you these breadcrumbs to follow.”

“Exactly,” Drew said again, his tone growing softer. “I think that’s why his films feel so intimate, he gets the human part so right.”

You smiled, letting his words settle in the air for a moment. “I think that’s what makes working with him feel like such a privilege. It’s not just about telling a story—it’s about feeling it.”

Drew nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “And those are the moments that stick with you, you know? The ones where you felt something real, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Completely,” you agreed, your voice soft with sincerity. “Those moments are why we do this.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the weight of the conversation settling in the cozy studio. Then, Drew broke the quiet with a grin. “Okay, but did Luca make you do those impromptu rehearsals at, like, the crack of dawn?”

“Oh my God, yes!” you burst out, your eyes widening. “I’d just roll out of bed with zero coffee and somehow be expected to pour my soul into a scene.”

Drew laughed, his face lighting up. “Right? It’s like, ‘Good morning, here’s your emotional breakdown for the day.’”

You laughed along with him, the shared experience adding another thread to the easy camaraderie forming between you. “But honestly, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”

“Same,” Drew said, his expression softening again. “For Luca? Anytime.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed, your eyes locking with his for a moment before the warmth of the studio light reminded you both that the cameras were still rolling.

Drew shifted in his seat slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s kind of wild—hearing you talk about all these incredible experiences. You’ve been doing this for so long, and yet it’s like you’re just getting started.”

You tilted your head with a small smile. “That’s sweet of you to say. But yeah, I guess I have been in this industry for most of my life. It’s all I’ve ever really known.”

Drew’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s crazy to think about. I didn’t even consider acting until after college. You must’ve been, what, ten? Eleven?”

“Eight, actually,” you corrected with a chuckle. “My first role was in this little indie film. I was basically just the kid who ran around in the background eating ice cream, but I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

He laughed, clearly amused. “That’s adorable. And now you’re the Hollywood It Girl. No big deal.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your laughter light. “Oh, stop it. But yeah, it’s been a journey. Growing up on sets definitely shaped me, for better or worse. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to have a more ‘normal’ childhood.”

Drew’s smile softened. “That must’ve been such a whirlwind. I can’t even imagine starting that young. I didn’t even think about acting seriously until high school.”

“Oh, I’ve read about that!” You said, your voice lighting up. “You were all about sports growing up, right?”

“Yeah,” Drew admitted with a chuckle. “I was your typical small-town kid—baseball, basketball, you name it. I was convinced I was going to go pro in something, but clearly, that didn’t pan out.”

“Well, I think acting suits you pretty well.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah, the real shift happened in high school when I joined a drama class. It was all Samuel Beckett and absurdist plays, which at the time I thought was the coolest thing ever.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “So that’s what pulled you in? Drama class?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a nod. “And then I went to Western Carolina for college. I double-majored in English and theater, thinking, ‘If this acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll at least have a backup plan.’”

“That’s so realistic of you,” you said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I was ten, telling anyone who’d listen that I was going to win an Oscar one day.”

“And look at you now,” Drew said, gesturing to you with an almost reverent smile. “You made it happen.”

You chuckled, a bit flustered by his admiration. “Well, not quite, just an Oscar nominee for now. But thank you. You know, I think your journey’s pretty incredible too. A double major? That’s no joke. And starting later in the game like you did… it must have felt like a slow burn, but it’s clearly paid off.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Drew said thoughtfully. “It was definitely a slower burn for me. I didn’t land my first real gig until I’d been auditioning for what felt like forever.”

“I think that makes your journey even more special,” you said, your tone sincere. “You came into it with all this life experience and maturity. It shows in your work, you know? There’s this depth to your performances that’s just… rare.”

Drew’s ears turned a little pink, and he laughed softly, glancing down at his hands. “Wow, you’re gonna make me blush over here.”

“Good,” you said with a teasing smile. “It’s only fair after all the compliments you’ve been throwing my way.”

He looked up, his grin sheepish but warm. “Touché. But seriously, hearing that from someone like you—someone who’s been at this for so long and is so insanely talented—it means a lot.”

“Well,” you replied with a playful tilt of your head, “I think it’s safe to say we’re officially mutual fans.”

Drew laughed at that, the sound easy and genuine. “I can live with that.”

The conversation shifted into more comfortable territory as the two of you shared experiences, trading stories about acting and the film industry. Drew, now feeling at ease, leaned forward with renewed interest.

“You know,” he began, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “I've been thinking about how different TV shows and movies are, especially when it comes to the pacing and character development. Like, in a show, we have to maintain this ongoing energy for the characters over multiple seasons. But with movies, it’s a totally different vibe, right?”

You nodded, understanding immediately where he was going. “It’s definitely a huge shift. With TV, you’re given time to build on a character slowly. Every episode is another chapter, so you can explore new facets of them and keep the audience hooked for longer periods of time. But movies, they’re this intense sprint. You have to get everything across in just two hours or so, but in a way that feels just as layered and satisfying.”

Drew's eyes lit up with excitement, clearly passionate about the topic. "Exactly! You have to balance the action and suspense while still giving the characters these moments of vulnerability. Over multiple seasons, you can really let them grow and change. It's like a slow burn. But when you're doing a movie, you don’t have the luxury of that buildup. It has to be this concentrated emotional punch right from the start.”

“That’s one of the biggest challenges of film, for sure," you agreed. "In a film, every second counts. You can’t afford to waste a moment. But I think what’s also interesting is how both mediums can explore a character’s journey from different angles. TV shows can dive into their backstory in more detail, but movies... they really need to hit those emotional beats and leave an impact without dragging it out."

Drew smiled, clearly engaged in the discussion. “In TV shows you need that perfect balance of suspense, character development, and personal growth. And then, at the end of the season, you drop a huge bombshell that leaves people wanting more.”

You laughed, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some serious thinking about it. What’s the secret to keeping the audience hooked without losing the depth of your character?”

He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Well, I think it’s about letting the characters evolve with the story. You need to make sure the audience sees the human side of your character, even when they're in these crazy situations. It’s what keeps people invested in the long run.”

“You’ve really got the process figured out,” you said with a smile. “But you’re right—it’s a different rhythm for TV. With a movie, you get to go deep quickly, but with a show, you have to keep it dynamic and varied. And let’s not forget, you need that cliffhanger at the end to make people binge-watch the next season.”

Drew’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re giving away all the secrets! Next thing you know, people will be expecting a cliffhanger every time they watch a movie."

“Well, movies and TV are both art, but they demand different approaches,” you said, “and you’re doing an amazing job balancing both. I’m honestly so excited to see where your career goes next. Both worlds are lucky to have you.”

He chuckled softly, clearly humbled. “Thanks. I think I’m just lucky to be a part of both. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in a show that gets people talking for days?”

“Right? You’ve got Outer Banks, which has such a dedicated fanbase, and then movies like Queer that touch people in such a different way. It’s amazing to watch your versatility.”

He leaned in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m just trying to keep up with you. Honestly, your transition from action to more emotional roles is inspiring. I hope I can pull off something even close to what you’ve done with your career.”

Your smile softened, your voice sincere. “Well, you’re already doing it, Drew. You’re already there. It’s not just about the roles—it’s about the heart you put into them. And you’ve definitely got that.”

Drew’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His gaze softened, as if he were truly reflecting on what you’d said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but keeping his eyes on you, his expression thoughtful.

“It's crazy, isn't it?” He began, his voice a little quieter now, “The idea of giving so much of yourself to something that feels so... intimate. But when it works, when the audience feels it too, there's nothing like it.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your voice a little quieter now. “That's the real magic, when the audience feels like they know the characters, like they're right there with them. It’s not about the plot twists or the fancy sets—it’s about the emotions that we build and share with them.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to you. “Speaking of emotions, I just saw your new movie, We Live In Time,” he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “It’s one of those films that stays with you, you know? It’s raw in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s also beautiful. How did you tap into that for Almut?”

Your expression softened as you thought back on the experience. We Live In Time had been a journey—a raw, almost therapeutic one. “It was an emotional rollercoaster, honestly,” you said, leaning back slightly, letting the memory settle in. “I think the hardest part was showing that moment where her whole world shifts. It was such a raw, profound type of emotion I had to channel in order to do justice to the character and her experiences.”

Drew sat back, letting the weight of the conversation settle. “I think that's what makes your career so incredible. You never just play a character. You become them. And you take us with you. Every heartbreak, every triumph, every moment of doubt... we feel it all with you. That's what makes your work so powerful.”

You met his gaze, feeling the depth of the conversation linger between you both. “It’s all about connection, right? Connecting with the character, with the audience, and with the emotions that we all share as humans. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to make sense of time, love, and the moments we get.”

Drew smiled, his expression genuine and soft. “Well, you’ve definitely made sense of it for me. We Live In Time—it’s not just a movie. It’s a reminder to cherish what we have. And that, in itself, is something special.”

You smiled back, your heart full as you let the words sink in. “Thank you, Drew. That’s really sweet of you.”

You both shared a comfortable silence for a moment, before Drew broke it with a playful grin. “You know, it’s clear you’ve mastered the art of vulnerability on screen, but I can’t help but wonder—did you ever have moments on set where it was just... impossible to take things seriously?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, absolutely. In fact, as a kid, it was all impossible to be serious,” you admitted, shaking your head at the memory. “I remember this one time during a scene on set when I was probably around 9 or 10. We were supposed to be doing this emotional scene, and I had to cry on cue. But instead of crying, I couldn’t stop giggling. It was a dramatic moment, and my co-star was all serious and trying to get through the scene, but I just... lost it.”

Drew raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Giggling during a dramatic scene? What happened?”

“Well, my director, bless her heart, kept trying to give me these 'serious actor' looks. She was this no-nonsense kind of woman, and she had this way of narrowing her eyes when things weren’t going well. I tried my best to hold it together, but then my co-star—who was way too good at being serious—looked at me and just gave this super intense stare, and that was it. I burst out laughing right in the middle of the take.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head. “I can just picture that. You were probably trying to hold it together, but it must have been so hard with all that tension in the air.”

“I swear, the more I tried not to laugh, the harder it became,” you continued, grinning at the memory. “It was one of those moments where you’re like, 'Why am I even here? I can’t do this.' But somehow, I got through it. The director had to take a deep breath, and we did a few more takes. Eventually, we got it done, but I think we all were on the verge of cracking up the whole time.”

Drew let out a laugh, clearly imagining the scene. “I can’t blame you. I feel like as a kid, you have no filter. Everything feels like a joke, and it’s so hard to be serious when everyone else is trying so hard.”

“You have no idea,” you said, your voice still light. “There were so many times I’d be doing a serious scene, and I’d start thinking about something random, like a certain meme or a funny sound someone made on set—and then, bam, it was game over. I’d be holding in a laugh like my life depended on it.”

Drew smirked, leaning in a little. “I totally feel that. I mean, as an adult, I still have moments where I struggle to keep a straight face. I once had a scene where I was supposed to be super intense, but the prop guy was standing just out of frame, and he made this ridiculous face at me—completely threw me off. I couldn’t stop laughing, and it ended up taking hours to finish the scene because we kept cracking up. Honestly, I think the crew started to get annoyed with us after a while.”

“See?” you said with a grin. “It never really changes. Truthfully, the older you get, the harder it becomes to hold it in. But then you look at the footage and realize how much fun you actually had, and that makes it all worth it.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. Sometimes it’s the moments you didn’t plan for that end up being the most memorable. Like when you have a laugh on set, and suddenly you feel closer to everyone, even though you’re supposed to be in character.”

“Exactly,” you said, your smile widening. “There’s something so beautiful about those unscripted moments. It reminds you that acting is, at its core, about connecting—whether that’s through laughter or the heavy stuff. And even though I had my fair share of giggling fits as a kid, I think those moments taught me just as much as the serious ones. Maybe more.”

Drew leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “It's funny how those little moments—like a laugh in the middle of a serious scene—can end up being the ones you remember the most. I think those are the ones that make the work feel real, you know?”

You smiled, your gaze distant as you reflected on the years of working on sets. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yeah, like those unscripted moments,” Drew added, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the sentiment lingered in the air. “They give the performance an authenticity that you can’t get from just following the script to a tee.”

You nodded, the words hanging between you like a shared understanding. “Exactly. And as a kid, I was so focused on getting it ‘right’—on being perfect—that I missed the beauty of just being in the moment. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how important it is to let go of the idea of perfection. It's in those mistakes, the wrong takes, the bloopers—that's where you find the truth.”

Drew's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your chest tighten. “I think it’s key not to be afraid to show the mess, the imperfect parts of a character, because that’s what makes them human.”

A small chuckle escaped you, the warmth of the moment filling the studio. “Right? We’re all just a little bit of a mess, trying to figure it out, but that’s what makes the journey worth it. We’re constantly learning, constantly evolving, and we bring that to our work. The growth, the mistakes—it all shapes us.”

Drew nodded, his gaze shifting as if reflecting on those same ideas. “Yeah, and the growth never stops, does it? Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something new happens, and it challenges you again.”

“That's the beauty of it,” you said, your voice quieter now, the bond between you both deepening. “The challenge is what keeps it exciting, keeps you moving forward.”

Drew grinned, a playful spark lighting his eyes once more. “Well, I guess we’re both lifelong students of this thing called acting, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a laugh, the lightness returning. “And just like any good student, we’ll always be learning. Who knows, maybe we'll even get better at not laughing in the middle of dramatic scenes.”

Drew let out a hearty laugh, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s going to take years of practice, honestly.”

You both shared a moment of genuine laughter, the warmth of your conversation filling the space around you. You leaned back into the chairs, the laughter still lingering in the air, a sense of camaraderie that made the space between you feel comfortable and open. You continued sharing stories, moving seamlessly from one experience to the next.

The conversation began to slow, the easy flow of stories fading into a comfortable silence, as you both shared an unspoken understanding. The light laughter that had filled the room now felt like a warm, lingering hum between you.

Drew shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze turning toward you with a subtle, thoughtful expression. “You know,” he began, his voice softer now, “I really hope we get to work together sometime. I think it’d be incredible. It’s the kind of thing where I can already imagine what it’d be like. Just... easy, real. Like this.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you kept your composure, offering a smile that spoke volumes. “I’d love that. If you receive a call from your manager these days… maybe I had something to do with it, so be prepared.”

The air between you both was charged, the quiet intensity of the moment not lost on either of you. There was something unspoken, something deeper that neither of you addressed outright but that seemed to hang there all the same. The connection was undeniable, yet it lingered in the silence, unspoken, but clear.

Drew finally broke the spell with a playful grin, his eyes flicking back to yours. “Oh, I’ll be ready. Can’t wait to see what magic we create together.”

You returned his smile, your heart racing ever so slightly, though you kept it hidden behind the ease of your words. “I’m sure it’ll be something incredible.”

As the interview wrapped up, there was a lingering sense of something unspoken between you both, an attraction that neither of you had to mention but was so clearly felt. The kind of connection that could only be hinted at, but would never truly fade. It was the kind of moment that would stay with both of you long after the cameras stopped rolling.

“Thank you,” you said softly as the final moments of the interview started to loom, your voice carrying a depth that reflected everything unsaid between you. “This has been amazing. Honestly, it feels like we’ve been talking for hours, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

He nodded, his expression soft but genuine. “I feel the same way. This has been one of the most honest and open conversations I’ve had in a long time.”

The crew began to pack up, signaling that the interview was at its end, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to break the moment. The usual chatter and movement around you felt distant, as if the two of you were in your own world for just a little longer.

“You know,” Drew said, his voice quieter now, a hint of sincerity threading through, “I think we make a pretty good team even just sitting here talking. Imagine what we could do with a whole script.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, the words feeling right, but the undertone of something more—something unsaid—hung in the air. “Yeah, I think we’d be unstoppable.”

The moment stretched between you both, filled with the kind of comfortable tension that comes when you realize you’ve shared something real. Something that felt like it could turn into something more.

You both stood up, a final, lingering moment before the usual goodbye. Drew extended a hand, his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary.

“Take care, okay?” he said, his voice warm, like the words carried more than just a polite farewell.

You shook his hand, the warmth of his touch lingering just a moment longer than expected. “You too, Drew,” you replied, your voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of meaning that mirrored his own.

As you turned to gather your things, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. The faintest smile curved his lips, as if he were replaying the conversation in his mind.

“See you around,” he called out, the words simple but loaded with promise.

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze one last time. “See you around.”

Walking away, you felt a peculiar lightness, as though something intangible had shifted, leaving you both exhilarated and curious. It wasn’t every day you met someone who made you feel seen in such a profound way, and as you left the studio, you found yourself smiling, a quiet hope blooming in your chest.

And for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to wonder what could come next.